


Sensations In Their Half-Dozens

by DictionaryWrites



Series: Grantaire Shipping Week 2013 (Nov 11-17) [3]
Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Aftercare, Blindfolds, Dom/sub, Earplugs, M/M, Sensation Play, Sensory Deprivation, Threesome, Threesome - M/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-10
Updated: 2013-11-10
Packaged: 2018-01-01 01:54:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 866
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1038947
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DictionaryWrites/pseuds/DictionaryWrites
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Wednesday's piece for Grantaire Ship Week. This fic is within the same universe as Senses Denied, a Courfeyrac/Grantaire/Combeferre fic I wrote a week or so ago. Sub!Grantaire with his two dominants. (Fic is linked in the inspirations).</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sensations In Their Half-Dozens

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Senses Denied](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1030341) by [DictionaryWrites](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DictionaryWrites/pseuds/DictionaryWrites). 



Grantaire's breathing was slow, deliberate, careful, as he lay on the bed. His hands weren't tied, but Combeferre was holding both of his wrists. The grip wasn't tight or controlling - Grantaire's head was laid on a pillow in Combeferre's lap, and Combeferre's hold was gentle, careful. 

"That's a good boy, Grantaire, just keep still." Combeferre murmured gently, and Grantaire quivered at the words. He was still iffy about receiving praise, but for the time being, he was alright. If he wasn't, he could safeword: Courfeyrac and Combeferre had been passionate about telling him so.

Grantaire was blindfolded, the cloth covering his eyes and leaving him in darkness, and he focused on the sounds of Combeferre's breathing, and of Courfeyrac walking around bedroom. "You ready to put your ear plugs in?" Courfeyrac asked.

"Yes, sir." Grantaire murmured softly, considering with a soft smile that idea of suspension in  _nothingness_. He could already feel Combeferre's warm hands on his wrists that much more intensely, but when he couldn't hear either, there were no distractions whatsoever.

He welcomed that. "Good boy." Courfeyrac murmured, and then the plugs were gently pressed into his ears, beeswax once again. That, Grantaire did not really welcome. He would prefer to go without the praise - it made him feel self-conscious and put upon, made him feel as if he could only disappoint the both of them once he hit a stage of being a "good sub", but Courfeyrac and Combeferre were as firm as they were gentle.

There was a long pause. Grantaire felt Combeferre's warm hands - and that was strange, he thought, that Combeferre should have such warm, pleasant hands when he was going to be a doctor - around his wrists, and he felt the bed beneath him. 

And then, he felt a soft tickle at his clavicle. The sensation was very light, but as it moved downwards, it was more of a tickle, and Grantaire let out soft giggles of sound. He didn't hold them back - he'd heard Courfeyrac say to Combeferre he worried he wasn't doing well if Grantaire made little noise, and Grantaire  _did_  want to please the other man.

It was a feather. Grantaire could tell that after a few minutes of attention, and he murmured the word. He didn't know how Combeferre and Courfeyrac reacted: all he knew was that they moved onto the next item.

It was a swatch of fur, Grantaire thought as Combeferre dragged it over his skin, and God, it  _did_  feel nice. It was pleasant, comfortable, and Grantaire felt himself lull into the sensation. The next was something with plastic teeth, dragged over his skin, and when Grantaire said, "Comb?", the word unnaturally loud and echoing on the inside of his own head, it was dragged through his hair as an affirmative.

Grantaire found he quite liked the comb.

It was Courfeyrac's nails, after that, dragging over his skin as if Grantaire wasn't familiar with the sensation, as if he didn't know it inside out and  _crave_  it, and he could almost see Courfeyrac's indulgent smile behind his eyes as he mumbled the words.

For all Grantaire knew, they were laughing at him, but he couldn't let himself consider that possibility. 

The wax was nicer than Grantaire had expected, the drip of it surprisingly comfortable and warm rather than hot. It solidified on his skin, and Grantaire gave a soft sigh as he felt an edge come between a piece of the wax, shaving it away and leaving the skin underneath sensitive.

Grantaire wondered if the piece Courfeyrac had shaved away had left the skin underneath hairless, or if it was red with slight irritation. These thoughts lasted barely a few seconds, because Courfeyrac followed the shave away of the wax with a cube of ice, and Grantaire did not react well.

Courfeyrac tore the ice away as soon as Grantaire yelled, and Combeferre let go of his wrists so that Grantaire could sit up and desperately wrench the cloth from his eyes and take out the plugs.

"Hey, hey, it's alright, shit, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, are you okay?" Courfeyrac asked desperately, and Combeferre reached forwards, soothingly tracing down the line of Grantaire's spine with his fingers.

"Yeah, fine, just no cold, not ice." It had been too cold, almost like  _pain_ , and Grantaire had panicked. "Not the ice again."

"Let's take a break." Courfeyrac murmured, stepping onto the bed and moving forwards to press a tender, careful kiss to Grantaire's lips. "We don't have to stop, just take a twenty minute break." He said when Grantaire looked ready to protest.

"That sounds best." Combeferre agreed, and Grantaire went quiet. "Did it hurt?"

"Almost." Grantaire murmured. "Intense." Combeferre nodded, putting his arms around the other's waist and pressing a kiss to his shoulder as Courfeyrac took the sub's hands, pressing a dozen kisses across his knuckles. 

"It's alright: not your fault." Combeferre murmured firmly, and that soothed the demon in the back of Grantaire's mind: that Fallen angel called insecurity.

Grantaire took in a slow breath.

"Now, ready to go again?" Courfeyrac asked, and slowly, carefully, Grantaire nodded. Courfeyrac offered an encouraging smile, and then he offered the other man the blindfold.


End file.
